External Partnerships
"Are we like that?"
-
Intentional
The Squat. Bathroom. Late September 1995.
“Jerk, I am so sorry.”
“Why? Cowlicks are my hair’s personality.”
Jerk looked in the bathroom mirror again. His bangs were straight enough and the hair on the left side was tame, but the right? The hair stuck out from his head like shrub long gone wild. He ran his hand through the shrub. “If the other side did the same thing, it’d look cool.”
Kid shook their head. “Not really.” The cut Jerk gave them was a touch too short on the top, but they’d teased it and it looked great. Same directions. Something about the cut made their face look longer, jaw sharper. It fit them.
Kid considered his head, squinting one eye and framing his face with their thumbs and index fingers. “Got an idea. You trust me?” They began digging through trimmer attachments before he answered.
Jerk glanced at the mirror, then at Kid. “No reason not to.” The toilet lid made a sharp clack against the seat as he sat on it in surrender. He took his glasses off and held them in his hands. “Please don’t make me look stupider.” He said, looking up at Kid. Their shape was blurry, and he hoped he didn’t he look as nervous as he was. He felt as exposed as a rat in the middle of Livingston Alley.
Kids snapped on an attachment and switched on the trimmers. Jerk closed his eyes. “This will look intentional, promise,” they said, moving in with the trimmer. “Tilt your head.”
Jerk tilted his head and braced as the buzz of the trimmer grew loud in his ear, clutching his glasses tight.
“Do it.”
-
Trade Secret
Door opens, bell rings. Leaves skitter in.
Tiny glanced up from his crossword. “Nice haircuts.” He went back to it for a moment before looking up at Jerk again. “You let Kid do that?”
Sad Eyes was packing in his lunch, his shift over. “You look like Maynard.” He smiled with approval.
“I like it.” Jerk ran his hands through his hair. It was shaved on the sides and a messy shock of hair on top. “Kid did a good job.”
Tiny couldn’t stop staring at Jerk’s hair. He shook his head. “Mort parted your hair on the wrong side one time, and you accused him of malfeasance while you were still in the chair.”
“Malpractice.” Jerk corrected him. “How do you forget what side a person parts their hair on?” A fire engine passed on 4th, heading north. He grit his teeth.
Sad Eyes leaned in while Jerk and Tiny continued arguing barber malpractice. “Your egg salads are fantastic, Kid.”
Kid’s copper penny eyes brightened. “Thanks! My recipe,” they half-whispered back, smile wide.
“When you grow it back, you’ll have cowlicks everywhere.” Tiny said crossing his arms. “It’ll be worse than your baby pictures.”
“I’ll just wear a hat when I grow it back.” Jerk said, pouring himself a cup of coffee from the pot, automatically starting to make a new pot.
“You never wear hats.” Tiny looked at Kid, hands raised as if he was holding up his confusion as evidence. “He’ll wear a hat now?”
“I’ve got a Mets cap he can wear.” Jerk had never seen the Mets cap in Kid’s stuff, and they didn’t have much.
Tiny was disgusted. “The Mets? I’d rather he shaved his head.” He flashed 5 fingers at Sad Eyes as he left. “Truck tomorrow. 5am.”
“Not a Mets fan. Got it.” Kid grinned as they backed away from the counter. “I’m gonna check and see how Star’s doing in the Deli.”
“I think a warmer on the Bunn’s going.” Jerk complained. “Coffee’s lukewarm.” He took another sip and grimaced. “I replaced the thermostat on that one last year.”
“Why’s the facility manager telling me this? Get it fixed.” Tiny grumbled under his breath.
Like starlings taking flight in unison, three customers decided to check out. Jerk paced Aisle C patiently while Tiny worked and silently walked through the process of replacing the burner in his head. The last customer had food stamps, slowing the big man down.
Kid returned as the bell rang for the last customer. “Tiny, we’re out of sandwiches again.” They scratched at some scrubby sideburn whiskers recently graduated from fuzz.
“Sad Eyes had Star hide one before we ran out.” Tiny shook his head. “We haven’t done sandwich numbers like this since before Norma’s first surgery.”
“I’ll come in earlier, make more–”
“No.” Tiny leaned back, crossing his arms. “Halve the Italian clubs and the ham and Swiss numbers.” His eyes were unfocused, he was running numbers in his head. “Focus on the egg salad. They’re the one people ask after when we run out.”
Jerk scratched the bare side of his head. “Those take the longest, we could have Roxy–”
“No!” Kid and Tiny reacted simultaneously.
“We give her the reci–” Jerk, being practical.
“Screw that–”
“Recipe’s mine–”
Tiny and Kid talked over each other. Kid stopped and looked at Tiny. He led.
Tiny cleared his throat. “Recipe’s is Kid’s trade secret and since Kid’s employed by The News as–” He paused, thinking. “‘Assistant Manager, Deli’,” He nodded and smiled at the title he’d just created. “We have exclusive rights.”
Kid looked at Tiny for a moment before nodding. “Paulie talked me up to his mom and dad after his last visit, but I keep telling them no when they ask me to join the kitchen, or–” Kid shrugged. “I like bussing and washing dishes. Two nights of no thinking, just doing.”
Jerk wondered what Kid thought of when they weren’t thinking. He always found himself factoring the differences between different powers of primes.
“Tiny, sticking around long enough I can go to Kelly’s? They should have the parts I need.”
Tiny nodded, then paused, thinking. “Got a delivery you two can handle on the way.”
“Sandwich delivery?” Kid tilted their head slightly and raised an eyebrow.
Tiny huffed. “Look who’s getting curious. No. You still might drool, though.” He looked at Jerk. “Carmen needs a refill. Usual mix.”
“It’s two weeks late.” Jerk knew the normal frequency.
Tiny shrugged. “Not our concern.” He looked at Kid. “Pay Kid the standard rate.”
-
Pall Mall
The second floor hallway of The Broadside was filled with the stink of Pall Malls and the symphonic rise and fall of a typewriter. Jerk stifled a sneeze. He hated the crematory stink of cigarettes. “New tenant’s going to die of emphysema before he finishes that book,” he muttered.
“So it goes.” Kid said, waving their hand in front of their face as if to dispell the smell.
Their destination was at the opposite end of the main hall, Suite 201. “Broadside Properties.” Kid said, reading the gold leaf lettering on the inside of the frosted chicken wired glass panel on the door. “Sounds respectable.”
“Of course it does.” Jerk said, toying with the key. The lock was tricky; another task for the facility manager to add to his to-do list. “It’s a respectable business.” The lock clicked open, he turned the door handle, and reached inside, turning on the light before going inside.
“Of course,” Kid’s seriousness was theatrical as they walked behind Jerk into the suite. “With perfectly normal dealings.”
“We do what we do.” Jerk said.
Kid studied the room. The reception area looked like it was expecting the secretary to return at any moment. There was a small cabinet with an old electric hot pot, tea cups, and a box of tea in the corner next to the secretary’s desk. Behind the desk was a painting of The Broadside as it must have looked 90 years ago, soon after construction. No windows.
The door behind them locked with a loud click. Kid jumped, startled, eyes on Jerk and the door. “Sorry,” Jerk apologized. “Just in case anyone tries the handle because the light’s on.”
“Claustrophobia.” Kid said. The looked around again. “Almost everything in here looks new.”
“Tiny brings his out-of-town business associates up here.” Jerk had walked over to a door to the left of the desk marked ‘Storage.’ “Keeps it up to date.”
“‘Storage?’ Does that room have a window or something?” Kid looked back at the exit. Jerk had unlocked the ‘Storage’ door’s deadbolt. A light turned on automatically. A two-foot hallway ended in another door with a push button combination lock and another deadbolt. Kid inched back towards the exit. “Can I wait outside?”
Jerk turned and blinked. “You want to get some water and make tea?” He was winding the hall door key off the keyring. “When you come back you can peek inside, OK?”
He handed Kid the key. “There’s styrofoam cups and lids in the cabinet.”
Kid stood there, looking at the key in their hand for a second. “OK.”
-
The Van Renwyck Room
When Kid opened the suite door with the hot pot full of water to make tea, they walked into a wall of unmistakable aroma, like old leather and molasses. The Pall Malls down the hallway could only dream of containing such richness. Sunlight flooded out the doorway.
They wandered into the ‘Storage’ room, dazed, hot pot full of water still in hand.
“Welcome to the Van Renwyck Room.” Jerk said, sprawled in a large chair with a leg swung over a leather arm. The room was large, the heavy curtains pulled back and light flooding the room. It looked out on the same corner The News did.
Kid considered him. “I’ve never seen you this relaxed. You look at home in here.”
“I’ve had access since I was 12.” He gestured around the room. “What did you think was in here?” He ran his knuckles over the wood paneling absent-mindedly.
“I had no idea.” Kid said, awestruck. There was a small bar and a floor to ceiling humidor, housing columns of numbered drawers behind glass. A small cedar box sat on the table next to it. “Is this Tiny’s idea of heaven?”
“Something like that.” Jerk said, gesturing at the hot pot in Kid’s hands. “Still want tea?”
Kid looked down at the hot pot, suddenly remembered. “Not really.” They put it down on the bar and looked around again. “You showing off or there a hidden safe in here?”
“Safe? Maybe.” Jerk gestured at the humidor. “We’re here for some cigars.”
Kid looked at the humidor. “Is that where he keeps the good ones? Like the evening on the roof?”
“That’s Bin 23.” He got up and walked over to the humidor. Kid joined him as he opened the doors and the aroma’s force trebled. “Get two cigar tubes, they’re under the bar.” He found Bin 23 at waist height and pulled it out. “There’s only two left in the open packet, perfect.”
He took the tubes from kid. They smelled like cedar and oil. “Get two foil packs from Bin 17 and one from Bin 5.” He slid the cigars into the cases and screwed them shut while Kid grabbed the three packets. Each was only marked with the number of the bin they came out of.
“Do these come from–?” Kid let the question hang.
“Most come from places south of Florida.” Jerk shrugged. “Bin 11’s from the Philippines right now, I think.”
“Put them in the cedar box.” He checked the gauges inside the humidor before he closed the doors. “Can’t leave this open too long or Tiny will bitch at me about the humidity.”
“I took the last packet out of Bin 5.” Kid said, closing the top of the cedar case. “Should we tell Tiny?”
“Tiny already knows.” Jerk tapped his temple. “He tracks the stock in his head.” He offered Kid the cigar tubes. “Payment. Tiny’s Number 23s.”
Kid took them. “Two of these for a delivery?” The tubes quickly disappeared into a pocket. “No complaints.”
“It’s one, but I normally trade mine for books or cassettes, and I know you enjoy them.” He picked up the cedar box. “Take this, there’s a backpack out in the drawer of the desk, I’m going to close the room up.”
After placing the cedar box in the backpack and slinging it over their shoulder, Kid got curious enough to check the other two doors in the reception area. One said “Private” which was a small storage closet with empty shelves except for some instant coffee and powered creamer. In the other–
“That’s quite the desk.” Kid said, peeking in the door. A massive oak desk and high backed leather chair dominated the room, along with two chairs that matched the ones in the Van Renwyck room for guests. The whole office was wood paneled and dim from the closed curtains.
“Custom built for Tiny’s great-grandfather.” Jerk caught himself chewing the side of his thumb and stopped himself. “You satisfied with the tour so far?”
Kid adjusted the backpack. “I’m not even sure what I’m touring.”
Jerk shrugged. “Ilium.”
-
Crossing Prospect
Jerk’s ease had evaporated before the symphony of tobacco stopped blunting the city’s stinks. He had his hands in his pockets and was walking fast. He hadn’t spoken in blocks.
“I’m still upset you wanted to give my recipe away to Roxy.” Kid said when they were almost to Prospect. “An extra cigar doesn’t make up for it.”
Jerk shoved his hands deeper in his jeans pockets and grabbed handfuls of the fabric, shoulders stiffening. “I’m too practical.” They crossed Prospect. Three sleepy blocks until they turned onto St. George Street.
“Right, Roxy would use it for–”
“I’m just too practical.” Jerk’s voice shook. He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Looked at his shoes. “I always think if it works, it solves the problem. I forget other people have stakes. Roxy’d use it for her egg salads, because it’s so good.” Jerk looked up at Kid, his shoulder locked, his arms rigid. “I get it. I’m sorry.” His pupils were constricted, his gray eyes combination dials.
Kid touched his arm. Jerk was shaking, eyes on his feet again. “What’s wrong?”
“I keep replaying it. Too practical. Hurts people.” Jerk said quietly. He looked up at Kid. “Hurt you.” He pulled his arm away. “Please, let’s go.”
Jerk walked away, shoulders still rigid. Kid caught up, and grabbed his arm again. “Honey, I don’t understand.”
Jerk stopped dead. “Are we like that?” He looked down and away from Kid.
“I…” Kid hesitated. “Do you want to be?”
Jerk stared at the sidewalk. “I don’t know how.”
“We’ll figure it out.” Kid squeezed his arm. “A little at a time, OK?” Jerk pulled his hands out of his pockets, shoulders relaxing a little.
He looked up and glanced at them before nudging his head southward. “Com’on, you’ll like Carmen.” His voice was flatter.
They reached the next corner. Kid slipped their hand into his.
-
Maiden & Maid
St George Street went a block before the St George Green opened up to their left, bracketed by Second and Third. It was surrounded by an iron fence, a gate with a chain and padlock securing it.
“Always seemed welcoming when I walked through this neighborhood.” Kid motioned at the gate. “The chains give it a real ambiance.”
“Not really a park.” Jerk gestured at the homes surrounding the green. “It’s their lawn. The ones who look out their windows, anyway.”
They crossed Second, and then across St George Street. Jerk released Kid’s hand, motioned to the building on the southwest corner of the intersection. “Carmen’s is in the old servant’s quarters around back.”
The building rose on the corner like a brick fortress trying to keep the city out–or the residents inside. On the corner was a turret with windows too narrow to be useful or trusted. The rest looked like they had been staring over the corner and St George Green so long they’d grown bored.
“This place? Street kids say it’s a convent.” Kid said, looking up. The building loomed over them, waiting to rap their knuckles with a ruler.
“They ran out of nuns in the sixties.” Jerk said, shrugging. “Apartments now.” A courtyard behind the building was enclosed by ivy covered brick walls and the square and plain servant’s quarters. They entered through a grate door in the wall that glided open and closed easily and silently, the only sound the gentle rattle of the latch.
The cobblestone courtyard was empty except for them and fallen leaves. The main building’s back door was a drab brown that matched the brick. The main door into the servants quarters was the lush green of Kentucky Bluegrass. The small plaque beside the door read Maiden & Maid.
“This is Maiden & Maid?” Kid said reverently. “I heard they do drag shows here.”
“They do those upstairs, I think.” Jerk said. He held the door open. “After you.”
Kid stepped down into the darkness. The smell of coffee and faint cigarette smoke rose to meet them.
“Welcome home.” Said a shape moving tables. Her voice was lilac and gravel, with a whisper of decades of sizzling drags off cigarettes as accompaniment.
Jerk stepped in beside Kid. “Jerk! Your hair!” Kid’s eyes were adjusting. Their host’s hair was thick and white shot through with black, slicked back and perfectly coifed like a 30s leading man. Her skin was the color of sandstone at dusk. She wore a white man’s dress shirt, open at the collar, shoulders sharply padded. Suspenders held up gray pleated chinos.
Kid stared.
“Thanks for running it down. Who’s this handsome devil you brought with you?” She held out her hand to Kid. “I’m Carmen, you got a name?”
Kid took her hand, Carmen did the work of shaking. “I’m–wow.”
“I agree, but is that your name?” Carmen smirked. Kid blushed.
“That’s Kid you’re flustering.” Jerk ran his hands through his hair. “My barber and our new deli lead.”
Carmen inspected Kid again. “I’d have picked Killer.” She rubbed her chin, then beckoned. “You got my cigars, Kid?”
Kid jumped, reverie broken. “Oh! Sorry.” They unslung the backpack. Carmen walked over to the bar and motioned for them to follow. The bar was heavy dark wood, and a reproduction of The Birth of Venus adorned the rough brick wall behind the bar, dim bulbs on bare sconces on either side.
Kid laid the backpack on the bar and pulled out the cedar case.
“Two packs of Number 17s and one of Number 5s.” Jerk said as Kid laid the three packs out. “Number 5s should be fresher. Not going through the Canaries now.”
Carmen looked at Kid, amused. “These men have never sold me a stale cigar.” Carmen fished in her pocket and brought out a pocket knife, trying to cut the foil.
Kid was staring at the painting. Venus looked familiar. The eyes, mysterious and kind. The smile, sans tea stains. “Is that Ms. Dunworth?” Kid asked.
Carmen stopped sawing at the foil packet. “That’s Evelyn. Painted her before you were born. She’s my Venus. Always.” She looked out the painting like a window into memory. “That was the first time she posed nude for me.” She chuckled at the memory.
Carmen came back to the present, and finished opening the foil pack, drawing a cigar out. “Care to share one with me?” She waved it, offering it to both of them.
“I can’t, we–” Kid said no as their eyes kept saying yes.
“I’ll walk down to Kelly’s.” Jerk said, interrupting. “It’ll clear my head, busy day.” He looked at kid. “I’ll grab you on my way back.”
Carmen had gone around the bar looking for lighter and other kit. “I’ll take good care of Killer.”
Kid touched his arm, head tilted. “You sure?” There was concern in their eyes. “It’s just a cigar.”
“Positive. Enjoy the cigar.”
-
Fresh Cut
Carmen clipped the end of the cigar and rolled it under her nose. “Oh, he wasn’t kidding about them being fresher.” She closed her eyes and inhaled again. “The maple notes come through even stronger now.”
She struck a wooden match and let the sulfur burn off before lifting it to the cigar. “If you use a match, remember to let the sulfur burn off.” She said, noticing Kid studying her preparation. She took three puffs, the coiled smoke rising like an offering to the heavens.
Carmen held the smoke in her mouth before passing it to Kid. She blew out the smoke in a lazy circle, sizing Kid up. “When Tiny said he had a new hire he wanted me to meet, I thought he’d finally hired a leg breaker for collections.” She smirked. “Instead, I get a handsome devil who’s a sandwich prodigy.”
Kid laughed nervously. “Never seen any of those guys around Tiny.” They sniffed the wrapper. Behind the maple: a dry, sharp spice. Almost nutmeg, but meaner. “I just keep the deli running and make sandwiches.” They drew the smoke in. It was sweet, bitter, dry. They held it just long enough for it to sting the back of their throat before exhaling, trying not to cough.
“That makes you a real heavyweight.” Carmen raised her glass in toast. “To Kid, egg salad maestro.” She drained her glass before refilling it with the last from a sweating bottle of tonic water.
“Have you been talking to Paulie? He butters me up like that.” Kid passed the cigar back to Carmen. “I don’t get it. I still have cardboard lining my favorite boots. I’m nobody.” Kid immediately looked embarrassed. “It’s fine. They’re broken in.”
“You’re the one who shows up. Does the work. Keeps your promises.” Carmen leaned in. “Some people call that love.”
Kid glanced at the door.
Carmen ashed into the tray with slow precision. “This delivery deserves more than a thank you.”
Kid tilted their head, eyes cautiously curious. They knew Carmen wasn’t that kind of danger.
Carmen passed Kid the cigar. “It’s not what it sounds like. How would you like to raid my wardrobe? It’s next door along with my studio. You can see my latest work too. Late as Adonis.”
“Are you kidding? I’d love it.” There was an ache in their stomach, like the hunger the first time Jerk offered to feed them. Kid sat with it before a realization hit. “Wait. Late models?”
Carmen’s sly smile returned as she nodded. “He even shows up on time. Usually.”
Carmen held the ashtray like an hors d’oeuvre platter, ashing into it. “I think I even have some boots that will fit your strut.” She motioned. “There’s a passage through the kitchen.”
The passage smelled of perfume, cigarettes, and damp brick. Kid followed, spongy cardboard insoles forgotten.
-
First and Canal
Jerk put Maiden & Maid behind him and kept walking another block before turning south.
The Pour-O-Matic replaced some bespoke, gas-fired monstrosity from Big Neil’s time—the one that caught fire the first time Jerk tried to fix it, fifteen years ago.
He caught himself rubbing the spot where Kid had touched his arm. He put the hand in his pocket.
If there’d ever been any documentation, it was gone by the time he was 10. He’d been making pots of coffee for The News since he was 8, being Tiny’s legs and hands as mass and years accrued.
“Honey.” Not even Norma called him that.
Jerk remembered the terror in Tiny’s eyes, dust-caked fire extinguisher spraying The News’ salvation on the coffee bar while he hollered for Norma to cut the gas that fed it off.
“Honey.” He’d never felt like a Honey until Kid said it.
Three thousand dollars in damages. It could have been worse. It could have been the entire News. It could have been The Broadside.
“Honey.” Why did it feel good?
A sudden screech stopped a foot from him. He looked up at the driver, dazed. He was crossing Saint Martin Street? The driver gestured rudely at him. He mouthed “Sorry.”
“Honey.” The word had rewired something.
What was Kid doing to him? Why?
He’d read the Bunn manual a hundred times before it ever failed. Learned to solder. Electricity was more predictable than gas.
Both were more predictable than Kid.
Nearly to the canal that separated downtown from South Ilium, he saw Mayor Hayden. The mayor was standing on the bridge over the canal, hands on the wrought iron fence that guarded the sides. His combover flapped in the breeze and the front of his shirt was untucked. He stared west toward the river, lips moving like Norma praying the Rosary.
Jerk couldn’t hear till he was almost next to him. “Still water. Dark water. She waits.” He had three days worth of beard, silver and white like the snowcaps of the Himalayas. “She sees me.”
“Mayor Hayden, are you OK?” Jerk asked him, shaking his shoulder. “You look a little lost down here.”
The mayor turned to face him slowly. His bloodshot eyes brightened with recognition. “You’re Tiny’s boy. Tiny’s… Page.” A dark cloud moved over his entire face.
“You’re the Page.”
Jerk’s stomach curdled. He smelled the ghost of incense and mahogany. “I’m not the Page here. This isn’t a Society function, Mayor.” The Mayor had already turned back to the west, lips moving silently.
Jerk shook the Mayor’s shoulder again. “Should I call someone for you? You seem out of it.”
The Mayor turned. “Tiny’s boy. So nice to see you again.” His bloodshot eyes were lucid. He offered his hand to Jerk, who shook it while he studied the Mayor’s face.
“We just spoke a moment ago, Mayor.” He said as he released the Mayor’s hand. “I asked you if you were OK.”
The darkness covered the Mayor’s face again before he spoke. “Just have a lot on my mind. I sacrifice a lot to run this city.” He looked to the west again.
“Ok, but you–”
“I’m fine and need to be on my way. I see her tonight.” The Mayor said, cutting him off. He turned north, toward downtown, pushing past Jerk. “Tonight’s my night. McNally saw to that. Tell your father… tell him she remembers.”
Jerk watched him go. Kelly’s was just to the south of the canal.
“Honey.” He would deal with it later.
He needed to borrow the phone at Kelly’s and tell Tiny what the Mayor had said.
-
Mayor Hayden
September XX, 1995 – Ilium, NY
Radio Scanner Chatter
Time: 14:30 – 15:02 EDT
14:30 EDT
Dispatch (Ilium PD):
“Unit 3-4, we’ve got a call for a possible break-in at the Mayor’s office. Reports of suspicious entry—looks like some damage. Respond to City Hall, 433 River Street. Over.”Unit 3-4:
“Copy that, Dispatch. 3-4 en route. ETA five minutes. Over.”
14:36 EDT
Unit 3-4:
“Dispatch, 3-4. We’re on scene at City Hall. Door’s been forced open. I’m going inside to check. Over.”Dispatch (Ilium PD):
“Roger that, 3-4. Keep us posted. Over.”
14:38 EDT
Unit 3-4:
“Dispatch, 3-4. Mayor’s office is a wreck. Papers scattered. Furniture overturned. There’s muddy water all over the floor. No sign of the Mayor. I’m sweeping the building now. Over.”Dispatch (Ilium PD):
“Understood, 3-4. Stay safe. Keep us updated. Over.”
14:42 EDT
Unit 3-4:
“Dispatch, 3-4. Still no sign of the Mayor, but the place is flooded with water—looks like it’s been sitting for hours. Calling in a full investigation team. Over.”Dispatch (Ilium PD):
“Roger that, 3-4. We’ll send tech and forensics. Keep us posted. Over.”
14:48 EDT
Unit 1-5:
“Dispatch, Unit 1-5, we’re en route to assist with the break-in at City Hall. ETA ten minutes. Over.”Dispatch (Ilium PD):
“Copy that, 1-5. Meet up with Unit 3-4. They’re requesting a full investigation team. Over.”
14:50 EDT
Dispatch (Ilium PD):
“Unit 3-4, we’ve got a new tip. The News called in. One of their runners spotted someone matching the Mayor’s description heading north from the canal on 1st Ave. He was apparently muttering to himself. Be on the lookout. Over.”Unit 3-4:
“Copy that, Dispatch. Did the runner mention anything else about his condition? Over.”Dispatch (Ilium PD):
“Negative, 3-4. Runner didn’t give further details. Still, it’s worth checking. Over.”Unit 1-5:
“Dispatch, Unit 1-5. We’re about two blocks away from 1st Avenue and the canal. We’ll check it out. Over.”Dispatch (Ilium PD):
“Roger, 1-5. Be cautious. The Mayor may be disoriented or in distress. Over.”
14:54 EDT
Unit 1-5:
“Dispatch, Unit 1-5. We’re near 1st Avenue and the canal. No sign of the Mayor yet, but we’re canvassing the area. Over.”Dispatch (Ilium PD):
“Copy that, 1-5. Keep an eye out. If you spot someone matching the description, detain them for questioning. Over.”
14:58 EDT
Unit 1-6:
“Dispatch, 1-6. We’ve been flagged down by some street kids here at Prospect Street Bridge. They say a man’s over the railing, like he’s about to jump. They think it’s Mayor Hayden. Over.”Dispatch (Ilium PD):
“1-6, copy that. Hold your position. Do not approach the Mayor yet. If you can get more details from the witnesses. Over.”Unit 1-6:
“Roger, Dispatch. We’ll talk to the kids. Backup is on the way. Over.”Unit 1-5:
“Dispatch, Unit 1-5. We’re about a block away from Prospect Street. ETA two minutes. Over.”Dispatch (Ilium PD):
“Roger, 1-5. Be advised: The Mayor may be disoriented or in distress. Keep it low-key. Over.”Unit 1-5:
“Understood.”
15:00 EDT
Unit 1-5:
“Dispatch, 1-5. We’re on Prospect Street Bridge now. Mayor’s leaning over the railing, talking to someone who isn’t there. I’ve got visual, but he doesn’t seem to notice us. 1-6, you copy? Over.”Unit 1-6:
“Copy, 1-5. Be careful—don’t startle him. I’m moving in closer. Over.”Dispatch (Ilium PD):
“1-5, 1-6, proceed with caution. Make sure he doesn’t make any sudden moves. We’re coordinating a safe response. Over.”Unit 1-5:
“Understood, Dispatch. We’re moving in slow. 1-6, we’ve got this. Over.”
15:01 EDT
Unit 1-5:
“Dispatch, 1-5. Mayor climbed over the rail and is leaning forward, shouting at the water. Can’t make out what he’s saying. Over.”Dispatch (Ilium PD):
“Copy, 1-5. Move in if safe. Fire and EMS en route. River unit ETA fifteen minutes. Over.”
15:02 EDT
Unit 1-5:
“Dispatch! 1-5! The Mayor just raised his hands and shouted ‘I must be with her!’ then he jumped. Repeat, he jumped off the Prospect Street Bridge. Requesting immediate medical and river rescue, now. Over.”Dispatch (Ilium PD):
“Copy, 1-5. Confirming: Mayor Hayden has jumped. EMS and water rescue are en route. Stay on scene. Attempt visual contact. Over.”Unit 1-6:
“Negative, Dispatch. No visual yet. Current’s fast. We’re checking the embankment. Over.”Dispatch (Ilium PD):
“All units in the area, be advised: this is now a critical incident. Secure the bridge, establish a perimeter, and assist rescue crews upon arrival. Over.”Unit 3-4: “Dispatch, 3-4… I can’t believe we let the Witch get the mayor.”
Dispatch (Ilium PD):
“Unit 3-4. Keep the line clear or get off it. Over.”Unit 3-4: “3-4. Copy.”